


Feliz Navidad

by kjack89



Series: Twelve Days of Christmas Giveaway Fics [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Attempted Seduction, Christmas, Christmas Play, Crude Humor, Developing Relationship, M/M, Pastorela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire are teachers cast as Archangel Michael and Satan in this year's school Christmas play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feliz Navidad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smallestgeek (Geektaire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geektaire/gifts).



> Para mis lectores mexicanos. Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento increíblemente. Mi conocimiento de pastorelas vino de la Internet. Perdona errores todas, ¡por favor!
> 
> The request was for a pastorela, which you can find more information on [here](http://www.inside-mexico.com/pastorelas.htm) and [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_in_Mexico#Pastorelas), if you're interested. Basically, a comic version of the Christmas story, often featuring crude humor. And, well, I can never claim to be a comedic writer, but there we are.
> 
> Usual disclaimer - soy dueño de nada.

Jehan beamed at the assembled group of teachers and announced excitedly, “This year, for the Christmas play, we’re going to do a take on a traditional pastorela!”

“Who in their right mind would let Jehan direct the Christmas play?” Bahorel asked under his breath to Bossuet, who shrugged, though he also looked uneasy, clearly remembering when Jehan had been put in charge of a skit on bullying that had wound up as a ridiculously macabre take on Stephen King’s  _Carrie_.

Though other discontented voices murmured through the group, Jehan’s smile didn’t falter as he announced, “And I’m very happy to announce that the role of the Archangel Michael will be played by Enjolras, and the role of the devil will be played by Grantaire!”

Now the murmurs fell into almost shocked silence as everyone turned to look from Enjolras, sitting at one end of the room, his arms crossed in front of his chest, the war-like look on his face perfectly matching the angel who had thrown Satan from Heaven, to Grantaire, slumped in a chair at the other end of the room, snoring lightly, the scent of liquor clinging to him like cologne. From Bossuet’s other side, Feuilly leaned forward to ask loudly, “Who in their right mind would let Jehan direct the Christmas play?”

“Thank you for volunteering!” Jehan said, turning his thousand-watt smile on Feuilly, who shrank back in his seat. “Feuilly, Bahorel and Bossuet will play our shepherds.”

Bossuet frowned. “Hey, what did I ever do to you?” he complained. “I just had the misfortune to sit between these two idiots.” Feuilly and Bahorel looked at each other and then both punched Bossuet in his arm. “Ow!”

Leaning forward, Enjolras asked mildly, despite the stormy look on his face, “Tell me, do I get any kind say in whether or not I want to partake in this? Because now is really not a good time for me. I promised my politics students that we’d do a field trip, and I don’t think that I’ll have time work on something like…this.”

If nothing else, the way he said ‘this’, as if the idea of doing a school play was completely frivolous and a waste of his time, sealed his fate, as Jehan smirked at him and said, “Sorry, Principal Valjean gave me final say in assigning roles, and everyone is expected to participate.”

Enjolras scowled deeply and glared over at Grantaire, who was still sleeping. “Is he even going to be sober enough for the show?”

“He will be when I’m done with him,” Jehan said crisply, then turned back to give out the rest of the roles, including telling an extremely confused Joly why he was playing the Virgin Mary while Musichetta was Joseph.

Enjolras looked helplessly at Combeferre, who just shrugged, though he also tried to keep a smile off of his face. “Come on. It’ll be good for you. Giving back to the community through your time and talent and all that,” Combeferre told him, unable to stop his smile when Enjolras’s scowl deepened.

“That was the line I gave you when I wanted you to come help us out during last year’s Christmas play,” he told Combeferre accusingly, “and while I’m partially gratified that you would memorize something that banal, I’m mostly pissed off that you would try and use it on me.”

On Enjolras’s other side, Courfeyrac slung a companionable arm around Enjolras’s shoulders. “Consider it a chance to get to know Grantaire better,” he suggested. “After all, half of the time all you two do is bicker and snark at each other during faculty meetings and I think everyone is quite bored of it. This way, you talk, you spend time together, you maybe have incredibly hot and tension-relieving sex…”

“Courf!” Enjolras snapped, red-faced, pushing Courfeyrac, who had dissolved into giggles, off of him. He frowned and squared his shoulders. “Fine. I’ll at least go talk to him, arrange a time to meet so that we can practice.”

As Enjolras marched over to Grantaire, Combeferre nudged Courfeyrac in the ribs. “I’ll take it you had something to do with this little arrangement?”

Courfeyrac grinned like a cat that had gotten into the cream. “I can neither confirm nor deny any role I may have had in getting this to happen. The Archangel Michael bit was a stroke of genius from Jehan, though. I had suggested Enjolras as the Virgin and Grantaire as Joseph.” He glanced over at Combeferre, whose smile had turned smug, and said accusingly, “It was you who suggested Archangel Michael and the devil, wasn’t it?”

Combeferre just shrugged. “I can neither confirm nor deny that. I may or may not also have money riding on the two of them getting together before Christmas, so…”

Enjolras stood in front of Grantaire, frowning down at him, and nudged his ankle with his foot. “Grantaire.” Grantaire didn’t move, his snore not even stuttering, and Enjolras glared at him, now basically kicking him. “Grantaire!”

Grantaire sat up with a start, blinking at Enjolras as if he was looking directly into the sun. “Fuck’s sake, Apollo, tone down the shininess,” he muttered, and Enjolras’s glare did not diminish at the gibberish.

“If you’re quite done with your nap, we have work to do,” Enjolras snapped, moving to sit down next to Grantaire, who looked at him as if he couldn’t believe that Enjolras was actually sitting down next to him. “You and I have been cast in the Christmas play, and it looks like we’re going to need to practice our scenes together, so I was hoping we could arrange a time to get together. You’ve been cast as—”

“The devil, I know,” Grantaire said easily. “Jehan warned me ahead of time. Given the look that you’re currently giving me, I’ll take it that he didn’t warn you at all. Shame. Anyway, yes, Apollo, we’ll have to get together to work on this. I’m free…” He mimed checking his watch. “Pretty much whenever.”

Enjolras scowled. “Unless you keep your schedule on your watch, that little pantomime didn’t even make any sense. And  _don’t_  call me Apollo.” He paused to take a deep breath. “How does tomorrow at 8 sound? At the Musain?”

Grantaire stood and stretched, and Enjolras tried not to look at the way his t-shirt rode up as he did so. “Works for me, Angel.”

Then Grantaire was walking away, as Enjolras stared after him and shouted half-heartedly, “Don’t call me angel either!”

* * *

 

At 8 o’clock precisely the next night, Enjolras sat in the back room of the Musain, already scowling, the photo-copied script from Jehan sitting in front of him, his lines — mostly statements condemning the Devil, which he imagined he wouldn’t have much difficulty with, picturing Grantaire’s smug face in his mind — already highlighted. He glanced repeatedly from his watch to the clock on the Musain wall to the door, watching as the time slipped from 8 to 8:05 to 8:15, and he was just about to pull out his phone and call Grantaire when the man finally arrived, beaming widely at Enjolras as he swept into the room. “Good evening, Angel,” he said brightly.

Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “ _Don’t_  call me that,” he growled. “Is there a reason you’re late?”

“Got distracted on the way over,” Grantaire said cheerfully, sliding into the chair across from Enjolras.

Rolling his eyes, Enjolras snapped, “By what? By getting drunk?”

Something on Grantaire’s face dimmed, and he snorted quietly. “Yeah. Something like that.” Enjolras was too busy rearranging his script to notice the pained look that crossed Grantaire’s face until he forced it into his more usual easy smile.

“Do you have your script?” Enjolras asked. “I want to get this done as soon as possible so that we don’t have to spend all night here.”

Grantaire pulled his script out of his pocket and slapped it against the table. “Yes, Heaven forbid we spend more time together than absolutely necessary, right, Angel?”

Enjolras did not both dignifying that with a reply. Instead, he closed his script. “I should have all my lines memorized. Let’s see — ‘Your evil ways shall not destroy this season, Satan.’” Enjolras looked up, waiting for Grantaire to say his line, but Grantaire was busy screwing the cap on the flask he had just pulled from his jacket pocket.

“Oh. Sorry,” Grantaire said, flashing a smile more like a grimace at Enjolras. “Right. Um.” He grabbed his script off of the table and read out tonelessly, “Evil is in humans’ hearts and evil shall prevail. I am merely here to ensure it.” He set his script back down and snorted. “Terrible lines, aren’t they?”

Shaking his head, Enjolras closed his eyes for a brief moment as he recited his next line, “If you wish to fight against the goodness in this world, you fight against myself and all the angels, and we have defeated you before and will defeat you again.”

He looked expectantly at Grantaire, who was continuing to not pay attention. “Grantaire,” he snapped, and Grantaire looked over at him, startled. “Are you even going to  _try_  with this?”

“Why bother?” Grantaire shot back. “You already think I’m useless, so there’s no point in putting effort into reinforcing that viewpoint, now is there?”

Enjolras ground his teeth together and began gathering his things together, glaring down at the table as he did so. “I knew this was a bad idea. I don’t know what the hell Jehan was thinking but clearly this was a terrible idea.”

Grantaire leaned back in his chair, smiling viciously. “Oh, I don’t know, Angel, I was just beginning to have fun.”

“Do  _not_  call me that!” Enjolras snarled. “I should have known you’d treat this entire thing as a joke. You can’t take  _anything_  serious, not this, not our meetings, not your own classes.”

Standing, Grantaire’s smirk slid off his face. “Don’t you  _dare_  accuse me of not caring about my classes. You have  _no idea_  what I do because you’re the one who’s never cared to find out. You’re right, I may not particularly give a fuck about putting everything into preparing for a stupid Christmas play, but don’t you  _dare_  say that I don’t care about anything.”

Enjolras just shook his head, grabbing his bag as he left. “Whatever,” he said dismissively. “Just try not to embarrass me when we actually have to perform this travesty.”

He left and Grantaire sank back into his seat, his expression tight. Without picking up his script, he recited the next line he was supposed to have said from memory, his voice soft and sad. “I have fought you before and will fight you again for eternity.”

* * *

 

On the night of, Enjolras paced backstage, nervous and irascible, snapping at everyone from Combeferre, who merely sighed and rolled his eyes, to Gavroche, who kicked Enjolras in the shins. As Enjolras hobbled over to sit down, wincing dramatically, Bahorel rolled his eyes and pulled a flask out from under his shepherd’s robes. “Come on, boys, drink up,” he said bracingly, taking a swig and passing the flask to Feuilly, who accepted it gratefully. “Be glad that we got cast in roles that allow us to be a bit tipsy.”

“Pass me some of that, will you?” Joly asked, and all three raised their eyebrows at him.

Bossuet took the flask from Feuilly and shook his head disapprovingly. “No way, Joly,” he told him. “You’re pregnant. That can’t be good for the baby.”

Joly’s hands closed on the fake baby bump he was wearing, and the look he gave Bossuet would have been enough to peel paint off the walls. “And do you know how a pregnant person gets when they’re denied what they want?” he practically snarled, though it quickly turned into a smug chuckle when Bossuet nervously handed the flask over.

Meanwhile, Enjolras had cornered Jehan, who was looking at him unconcernedly. “Where the  _hell_  is Grantaire?” Enjolras snapped.

“Right behind you,” Grantaire said easily, grinning at Enjolras as he adjusted the horns for his devil costume. “And before you ask, I am sober and prepared, so save whatever you’ve got planned to say to me.”

Enjolras, however, found himself at almost a complete lack of words as he stared at Grantaire, whose costume was almost skin-tight and left very little to the imagination. Jehan smiled at Grantaire. “Glad the costume fits,” he said cheerfully, pushing past Enjolras. “I’m going to go make sure Courfeyrac is ready since he starts this whole debacle.”

Grantaire glanced from Jehan to Enjolras, his smile faltering, and he quickly said, “I’m going to go see if Bahorel, Feuilly and Bossuet are ready to be tempted. I’ll see you out on stage.”

Though Enjolras nodded, he also stared at Grantaire as he walked away, trying not to think of how divine Grantaire’s ass looked in his costume. Combeferre walked up next to Enjolras, following his line of sight, and cleared his throat. “I’d just like to point out that as the Archangel, you are supposed to resist temptation.”

Enjolras startled and looked over at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, though he was sure he was blushing furiously. “How is it that you got to be innkeeper and have, like, one line only?” he asked instead, trying to divert attention.

Combeferre just smiled easily. “Helps being on good terms with the director.” He looked back at Grantaire, who appeared to have just drained Bahorel’s flask, judging by the way Bahorel was beating him with his shepherd’s crook. “But I think this might just work out. Are you ready?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” Enjolras muttered, staring at Grantaire as well.

The show started without a hitch, Courfeyrac as the hermit set to lead the shepherds to the Holy Family so they could worship the Niño Dios. Enjolras watched from backstage, biting his lip nervously as Grantaire’s entrance came up, but when Grantaire stepped onstage, he was perfect, hitting his mark flawlessly, mocking the shepherds while pretending to help them, making jokes easily that had the audience laughing loudly.

It relaxed Enjolras slightly, and when he made his entrance, he held himself like an Archangel, glaring firmly at Grantaire, who just smirked up at him. “Why, what’s this?” Grantaire asked, cocking his head at Enjolras as his grin widened and turned wicked. “Had the Lord finally smiled on me and sent me my very own sex god?”

Enjolras froze in his tracks, because those were not the lines. “Um,” he said, blushing, before he managed to regain his impressive scowl. “Begone, Satan, and let these shepherds pass. Lead them not astray.”

“Oh, why bother with the shepherds when I have you?” Grantaire asked sweetly. “I’d  _love_  to lead you straight into temptation.”

There were no mistaking the innuendo in his voice, and the audience laughed again as Enjolras blushed even deeper. “You fight a losing battle, Satan, for I have the power of God on my side.”

Grantaire winked at him. “You look like you have some power on your side. Just the way I like it.”

The audience tittered and Enjolras glowered. “Get on your knees before the power of the Lord!” he thundered.

Now Grantaire winked broadly at the audience before getting on his knees, sidling as close to Enjolras as he could, his hands gripping Enjolras’s hips, his mouth almost grazing Enjolras’s crotch as he said loudly, “You don’t need to force me down here with the power of Good. I’d come pretty willingly…as I’m sure you will.”

There was no mistaking what Grantaire meant by that, especially since he followed it up by actually mouthing at Enjolras’s crotch. Enjolras, whose face was beet red by this point, ignored the laughter from the audience to bellow, “Get thee behind me, Satan!”

Instantly, Grantaire was on his feet and behind Enjolras, but now was pressing against Enjolras from behind, still gripping his hips as he all but ground against him, licking Enjolras’s earlobe as he told him, “Oh, now you want me behind you, hm? Make up your mind already, would you?”

Enjolras shook his head. It took all of his concentration to stick to his lines, since for every little thing he said, Grantaire had some kind of sexual innuendo to come back with. Finally, Grantaire was ready to exit, and he blew Enjolras a kiss before telling him, “I’ll see you again, Michael.”

Though Enjolras was supposed to stay onstage a few moments longer to ensure that the devil had in fact gone, he instead rushed offstage at the first chance, ready to find Grantaire and ask him what the hell was going on. As soon as Grantaire saw him, he dissolved into laughter. “Oh, God. The look on your face, Enj. In case you couldn’t tell, Jehan gave me some different lines. I hope you don’t mind.”

Enjolras shook his head, bemused as much by Grantaire’s reaction as anything. “Neither of you could warn me?” he asked desperately, wincing as his voice seemed to crack at the end.

“Nah, we wanted your reactions to be genuine,” Grantaire told him. He leaned in, his eyes glittering. “Why? Got you all  _hot_  and  _bothered_ , does it?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, honestly, blushing when he realized what he had said.

Grantaire blinked, surprised. “Oh. Um. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really,  _really_ not.” He brushed past Enjolras to get to his next entrance, though he paused to kiss Enjolras’s cheek, telling him in a low voice, “Better prepare yourself for round two, then.”

Sure enough, at every turn, where the Archangel Michael was supposed to stop the devil from misleading the shepherds, Enjolras instead found Grantaire flirting and teasing him, which, while this technically did allow the shepherds to go on their way, didn’t seem to quite fit the theme of good conquering evil.

At least, until, during their final confrontation, Grantaire pulled Enjolras to the ground and kissed him soundly, all while rolling his hips up against him. Enjolras shoved him away, beet red as he stood, towering over Grantaire, who lay on the ground, grinning up at him. “That is enough, Satan!” he exclaimed. “You shall never draw me into temptation, now begone before I must take drastic measures.”

Grantaire took his time sitting up, still smirking. To Enjolras’s surprise, he started singing as he made his way offstage. “When I’m gone, when I’m gone, you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone…”

Enjolras stared after him, almost forgetting that he was supposed to follow him offstage as Grantaire continued, his tone slipping into something lascivious as he sang, “You’re gonna miss by my hair, you’re gonna miss me everywhere—” He grabbed his crotch to emphasize exactly what he meant “—Oh, you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.”

Then he was gone, offstage, and Enjolras had to rush to follow him. Grantaire was waiting just offstage for him, still grinning, and Enjolras didn’t even hesitate, practically launching himself on Grantaire and kissing him deeply. Grantaire froze against him for a moment, then kissed him back, weaving his fingers into Enjolras’s hair.

Enjolras pushed Grantaire further backstage, pushing him down onto the floor in a semi-deserted corner, unable to keep his hands off Grantaire, who laughed breathlessly. “What brought this on?” he asked.

“I was wrong,” Enjolras said, kissing him again. “You do care.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened and he smiled crookedly, pulling Enjolras back to him as they kissed. They spent the next few minutes making out, barely separating from each other, Grantaire’s hand running up Enjolras’s leg underneath his angel’s robe. Neither seemed to want the other go, even as Enjolras whispered, “I have to go back onstage. I have to…to watch the shepherds as they reach the Holy Family.”

“Mmm,” Grantaire hummed, removing his hand from under Enjolras’s robe and chuckling at the whining noise Enjolras made. “Well, we can’t have you miss that, now can we? Not after you’ve conquered Satan so thoroughly.”

Enjolras kissed him again, almost desperately. “Well, maybe not as thoroughly as I’d like,” he muttered, even as he pulled away from Grantaire. “See you for our last scene?”

Grantaire grinned lazily at him. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Though Enjolras had to almost sprint to get to the stage in time, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and Grantaire couldn’t either as he got into position for his final entrance. He barely paid any attention to Bahorel, Feuilly and Bossuet finally reaching Joly and Musichetta, and had to practically force himself to turn his expression into a scowl, though he was sure that his eyes were shining.

He entered the stage for the last time so that the Archangel could banish him back to Hell for the time being, and he limped dramatically, pulling faces at the audience, who laughed. “I have been impaled by the staff of Righteousness,” he wailed, though he paused to wink broadly at the audience. “And let me tell you, it was  _quite_  long and thick.”

As the audience laughed again, he adopted his previous saddened expression as Enjolras stepped forward, looking as if he was trying not to laugh as well. “Satan,” he said sternly. “I banish you back to Hell where you come from.”

“I will go for now,” Grantaire said, “but I’ll be back.” He hesitated, looking from the audience to Enjolras as if debating something, and added in a stage-whisper, “And in the meantime, here’s my number. Call me?”

Enjolras had to practically shove Grantaire offstage to ‘hell’ as the audience fell over themselves laughing. Soon after, he was back onstage to take his bow, and as he grabbed Enjolras’s hand to bow with him, half of the audience stood up cheering.

Once they were done with their bows, the entire place was pandemonium, and Grantaire was surrounded by admirers who had loved his entire act. It took him forever it seemed to shoulder his way backstage so that he could take his costume off.

He saw Enjolras standing backstage and changed his mind, heading over to him, but he was intercepted just before reaching him by Jehan, who gave him a hug. “You were damn good!” Jehan told him excitedly. “And you did everything that I asked you to onstage, and it was just incredible!”

“Thanks, Jehan,” Grantaire said, amused, looking over Jehan’s shoulder at Enjolras, who looked slightly uncomfortable. Grantaire made his way to him and gave him a tentative hug. “Good job to you, too,” he told Enjolras, suddenly nervous. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more convincing Michael.”

Enjolras smiled at him, though he asked wryly, “So you and Jehan planned all of that, huh? Was it all just an act, then?”

Grantaire laughed out loud and leaned in, his mouth brushing against Enjolras’s ear as he whispered, “Well, it wasn’t  _all_  an act.”

Then he turned and walked away towards the dressing room, leaving Enjolras staring after him, a smile growing across his face as he decided to follow Grantaire. After all, he was no angel, so perhaps it wasn’t surprising that he would fall into temptation.


End file.
